In His Arms
by lostatseanomore
Summary: Ichigo can't sleep even though he has all he's ever wanted sleeping soundly in his arms. IchiRuki
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Neither Bleach nor its characters belong to me**

**I really hope you enjoy reading it!**

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He looked down at the woman laying in the crook of his arm, securely at his side. She slept peacefully, despite her wounds, resting her head on his bare chest. Her dark lashes fanned against her pale cheeks elegantly and her raven hair, which had grown longer these past few years, cascaded across the sheets and off the edge of the bed. He lightly fingered the rough bandages wrapped around her chest and abdomen, and regret and self-loathing engulfed his being.

She had berated him earlier for having a self-pity party, but now, as she slept, as the moonlight played upon her sleeping silhouette, how could thoughts of regret _not_ wash over him? She could have died.

"You've been saying that for years!" she'd shouted that afternoon as he redressed her wounds. "'You could have died. You almost died. I'm such an idiot,'" she mimicked in a voice which in no way resembled his. "I'm a big girl, Ichigo. I've been fighting for years. Despite what you may believe, I _am_ capable of taking care of myself," she tried to reassure him.

He'd nodded wordlessly, biting back the harsh words swirling about in his mind and mouth, and she'd sighed and leaned back against his chest, bringing his arms around to cradle her gently. Her right arm went up to grip the back of his head and neck.

"You know what your problem is?" she'd asked quietly, turning her face towards him.

"What?" he'd breathed into her ear.

"You care too much."

He'd shaken his head crossly. "Idiot."

And she'd pulled his head down until their lips met.

Now, she was fast asleep. She was safe.

But, if he was honest with himself, just "safe" wasn't enough. He wanted more, more for her, more for them. He loved his life; truly, he did. It was an honor to protect innocents and serve alongside those who'd become his friends and do his shinigami duty. In a selfish perspective, he loved the strength and power he'd acquired in order to do his job well; it brought the ultimate ecstasy, the pure power flowing through his veins like a drug.

But he hated when she got hurt. He hated _himself_ when she got hurt. Yes, she's capable of taking care of herself, he knew, but that knowledge did nothing to calm the rage or fear that cruelly beat his heart with a bat any time a drop of her blood was shed.

Sometimes, on a rare occasion when he had a few moments of silence to himself, like tonight, he wondered what it would be like if they were just...normal. Not shinigami. Not soldiers. Not subordinates. Not accountable to anyone else.

Just lovers.

Had they both been normal, had they both been just human, they could go out on dates--without being interrupted by a hollow call--they could finish school--without traipsing off to fight a war unidentified to the human world--they could have careers--without getting fired every other month for disappearing without notice for weeks at a time--they could have a family--without worrying about Soul Society's opinions of their "unconventional, unprecedented" relationship--they could grow old together...and die together.

But they were not normal.

And they were not just human.

He'd come to accept that. For now, he was content with sharing his bed with the tiny woman, with protecting her and their friends, with making sure, if need be, he'd be there to lay down his life for hers.

Subconsciously, his grip around her waist tightened slightly, and she moaned quietly. Her eyes fluttered open to see him watching her affectionately. She smiled softly and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "I'm all right." She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. "You all right? Can't sleep?"

He shrugged and reached to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine."

She snatched his hand before he could withdraw it and sweetly kissed his palm, then wove their fingers together. He sighed contentedly as she replaced her head on his chest, as they moved their bodies closer. With her free hand, she began tracing the lines, the muscles, the scars of his chest and abdomen lightly with her fingertip. There was a full moon so, in the light, he could see her movements and expressions easily.

It still amazed him, sometimes, how far they'd each come, what they each had to overcome to get to where they were. Years and wars later, they were closer than ever--in every sense of the word. What amazed him still was that she loved him in return.

He never thought he'd feel as he does for her. He had worked so long and so hard maintaining his image, keeping people away, and yet she'd gotten under his skin effortlessly. His biggest fear had been that if she got deep enough, if she saw who he really was, who he fought so hard not to be, she'd run the opposite direction, taking his heart with her. He wasn't the hero people thought he was. He wasn't strong.

He was a coward.

And still, she stuck around.

She'd seen him at his worst, at his lowest, but instead of flinching in fear, in disgust, she'd stood taller, and pushed him beyond himself, beyond the obstacles in his way, helping him pick up and reassemble the pieces of his shitty life on the way.

She made him strong.

She made him brave.

She completed him.

He was okay with the fact that she got angry every time he tried to protect her, as long as he never lost his other half.

"I had a dream," she stated quietly.

"Hmm? What about?"

She smiled. "Us."

"Yeah?" he asked, pulling her tighter against him, though wary of her injuries. "And what trouble were we getting into this time?"

She looked at him and smiled still, the reflecting light of the moon making her eyes sparkle and glisten a deep violet. "None. We just stayed in bed all day. No hollows. No family issues. It was pretty nice actually."

He smirked and rested his head back on the pillow, stared at the bland ceiling. "That wasn't a dream, it was a premonition. The gods have spoken: our duty tomorrow is to stay in bed and do nothing all day long. We must obey orders."

But Rukia thought he was totally serious. "Do nothing?" she asked, mildly shocked. "Laziness is not healthy, Ichigo," she stated matter-of-factly.

He looked back at her. "Well, I'm sure we could find something to do," he offered suggestively.

She blushed slightly but squeezed his hand. He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. It started slow, sweet, but she reached to pull him closer, ran her free hand through his wild orange hair, and the kiss deepened as their mouths parted.

He broke away first. He proceeded to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck, before plopping back down on his side of the bed.

She folded her arms across her chest and pouted.

"You're injured," he stated pragmatically.

She blew him a raspberry. "That line would never fly with you."

He smiled. He knew it was true. "Sleep. You need your rest," he whispered gently, and he pulled her back against him.

She curled into his side. "I love you," she murmured softly as her eyelids grew heavy in sleep.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, too." _More than you'll ever know._

But he did not go back to sleep. Scowling, he continued to stare out the window, into the night, into the darkness, as though he felt something approaching, preparing to rip him from this dreamlike life he was living, until her steady breathing and the rising sun assured him they would be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

He waited until seven to get out of bed. He slipped from Rukia's embrace and tucked her back under the covers, admiring her sleeping form. He crept across the apartment quietly and pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t. In the kitchen, he chugged a glass of orange juice and snatched an apple from a bowl on the counter. He shoved his feet into sneakers and grabbed a hoodie before exiting the apartment, making sure the door was securely locked behind him.

It was spring, and the morning air was still brisk. Half the street hadn't even seen sunlight yet. He walked further into town, not really sure where he was heading. He needed to think, needed to breathe.

Uneasiness still loomed over him. It was a feeling he couldn't shake. Morning had helped; it had been like a beacon of assurance, trying to rescue him from his self-dug hole. But even now...he was fine. More importantly, she was fine, but _something_ was wrong. He just hadn't found what he needed to stab to make everything all right again.

He came to an intersection. Right would take him to the Urahara Shoten. Left would take him towards the parks and the river. He knew he definitely would _not_ be able to think in that crazy shop and started left. Shopkeepers were unrolling awnings and setting up displays on the street. Elementary children ran past him in clumps, carrying packs and books that probably weighed more than they did.

"Kurosaki-san!"

Ichigo looked up. Across the street, a young man was waving towards him. Ichigo didn't recognize him.

The young man crossed the street and approached him, clad in a green apron and khakis. Ichigo's scowl deepened as the kid smiled at him like a fool. "Yo," he offered, a little annoyed.

The kid looked shocked. "Don't you remember me? It's Tanaka Tarou."

The name didn't ring a bell; neither did the face. Ichigo just looked at the kid, uninterested and mildly bored.

"I-I dated your sister...for two years," he stammered, no longer as self-assured.

"Huh," was Ichigo's only response. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Which one?" If either of his sisters had dated anyone seriously, he would have known about it, and more than likely, this kid would have run the opposite direction when he'd spotted him.

"K-Karin-chan."

Ichigo shrugged. "Cool." He began to head back down the street.

"Wait," the kid called. Ichigo sighed. "H-How is K-Karin? I h-haven't s-seen her in a w-while," he stuttered painfully.

Ichigo scratched at his four days worth of scruff, making a mental note to shave tomorrow morning. "Fine, I guess. I've gotta go."

"Of c-course," the kid said to Ichigo's back. "Is she s-still at the u-university?"

Ichigo thought deliberately before answering, carefully choosing his words. "Yeah, she's at school. Probably won't be home for a while." He paused before adding, with a flippant wave of his hand, "She's got a boyfriend; a punk with weird white hair who wouldn't think twice about kicking your ass. I'd stay away if I were you."

When the kid didn't respond, Ichigo looked over his shoulder, curious. The kid had disappeared. He smirked slightly but kept walking.

The mundanity of the world of the living was beginning to irk him. Everyday was the same when there was no shinigami work to be done. Hollow appearances were relatively under control, especially in this town, so he often found himself bored. Life was not boring enough to permit him to live a normal human's life, nor, however, was it chaotic enough to let him live the life of a full-time shinigami. Besides, the old man had rejected his request to move to Soul Society. Twice.

It really pissed him off. The old man really needed to pull the cane out of his ass. He'd let Karin attend the Academy, so, technically, she, a human, was living there. And he'd allowed Rukia to live in the world of the living. What was the problem?

The second time his request had been rejected, he'd flown into Rukia's room in her brother's house in a fit of irrepressible fury, his spirit pressure fluctuating wildly, making the servants in the house sick.

"Who the hell does he think he is!" he'd demanded. "He can't just tell me 'no' without discussing it! After all I've done! He has no right!"

Rukia just sipped her tea. His entrance hadn't even fazed her. "Actually, I believe he does have the right, being the head of Seireitei and all."

"Shut it," he bit as he collapsed next to her. "He's not _my_ boss."

"No, you're right. And it would be absolutely no problem for either one of us if you got on his bad side," she retorted sarcastically.

He harrumphed and folded his arms across his chest indignantly. "Stupid Soul Society. Stupid rules. Stupid Yama-"

"Complaining won't get you anywhere," she interrupted.

"Yeah? And what do you suggest I do, Oh Wise One?" he mocked, still misdirecting his anger.

She kicked his shin under the table and threw him a dirty look. "If you'd just _listen_," she hissed behind clenched teeth.

He rubbed the point of impact, the same place she _always_ kicked him. He looked up at her, preparing for another verbal sparing match, but she was looking away, seemingly miles away in thought.

"Rukia?"

"Why do you have to make things so difficult?" she whispered.

"What?" he asked, truly taken aback. "I...I thought you wanted this? Wanted us-"

She shook her head and smiled a little. "We'll find another way. It's not solely on your shoulders."

He sobered, realizing the effect this would be having on her as well. She had given up the past few years of her life living, with him, in the world of the living. It had been his idea to request living in Soul Society; he wanted to give up something for her for once. But...did she not want him to? Did she not want him to live in Soul Society?

"I don't get why you're not fighting this," he stated honestly.

"Because we don't need to fight."

He furrowed his brow in response.

She stretched and kissed the tenseness from his face. She leaned back and made him look her in the eye. "I'm fine with staying in the world of the living if you are."

"But is that what you want?" he asked doubtfully.

"What I _want_ is _you_," she said, placing her hand on his chest, over his heart. "Nothing else matters. I don't care where we live...as long as we're together."

She made it sound so easy.

He'd stared at her for a minute, silently. He admired her for her strength; she was definitely the strongest, toughest, most stubborn woman he'd ever known, and yet her strength was subdued, understated, and controlled. But he loved her for her heart; he loved her because she believed in him.

"Well, you've got me," he mumbled, trying to downplay the emotion in his voice.

She smiled, satisfied. He leaned in to kiss the smile off her smug mouth. He put his hands on either side of her hips on the floor and leaned further over her. She had to grip his kimono to keep from falling over, which only pulled their bodies closer. He lay her gently back onto the floor and she bit her lip, relishing the pleasure flowing through her body as his lips explored her neck and collar bone. She had just slipped her hand beneath his kosode, her hand had just touched his hot skin when she froze. Ichigo instantly felt her body stiffen beneath his.

"What's wrong?" he questioned, his voice slightly hoarse.

She pushed him off of her and rolled out from under him, putting at least a meter of space between him. She frantically began attempting to smooth her tousled hair and straighten her clothing. "Nii-sama is home," she said hurriedly.

He then felt the none-too-subtle presence and spiritual pressure her brother exuded that she'd keenly sensed moments before. He rolled his eyes. _He would come home now._

Her brother had entered the house with all his entitlement and regality, subtly commanded they both stay the night in his mansion--with Ichigo in the furthest end of the estate, of course--instead of the Squad 13 barracks, and Rukia did not let him touch her the rest of the night.

_Maybe living in the real world won't be so bad_, he'd thought, sleeping alone that night.

Yes, that was a definite plus about living in the world of the living: the fact that her brother did _not_.

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**The result of insomnia and a migraine...but I like it**

**Remember to review...**


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